Steambot Chronicles: Battle Tournament
by Excalyptra
Summary: Novelization of the PSP spin-off under the prontagonist POV, Apollo. Rated T for swearing and sexual themes.


Greetings and welcome to the novelization of the Steambot Chronicles spin-off "Steambot Chronicles: Battle Tournament". I was inspired by Orpheum's noveliziation of the first game, so why not make the spinn-off?

I hope you appreciate this story, review if you have any comment/correction to the story, and thanks for reading.

Disclaimer: I will only say this once in the entire fanfic,  
**I do not own any intellectual property mentioned in this fanfiction, any rights to distribute the content in this fanfiction belong to the now dysfunctional Irem® and Atlus®**

A/N: Keep in mind that I use Apollo POV (point of view) all the time, no switching POV unless requested.

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**Chapter 1 | First Day**

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As I lay in bed I wondered, how the hell did I get involved in all of this?

I did said I want to become a Trot Champion but that was a childish dream 10 years ago, now I only want to have a peaceful life in a countryside village where I work as a farmer, have 2 children, and no contact whatsoever with Trotmobile battles.

Then how do I, a practically young adult with nothing but a retro old trotmobile ended up buying a 2-way cruiser ticket to the capital of Trotmobile Battling, the infamous Orion City? Have I unconsciously wanted to become a mindless battling gladiator all these years? I'm going to blame my grandfather for passing his genes…

"Hey, wake up!" I panicked and wake up from my deep thoughts, picked my luggage, and went to the deck of the ship.

"What!? We're here?" I asked the sailor who yell and recently broke my eardrums in the process of doing so.

The sailor is a young man in his late twenties with a nicely groomed black hair while wearing a white shirt and a blue vest, fitting for a sailor his age. He might sounds harsh and loud for his age, but he's actually polite and all-around a nice friend. We met at my village port while he was searching for another customer; he offered me a 2-way ticket to Orion City for half the price. Something I notice earlier on is that the ports only accept the same ship every year since there's no room for many cargos.

"Yep, this's Orion City my friend…"

I went and view the city mentioned, it's not exactly beautiful. I describe it as a loud cheerful city. The roads are packed with automobile and trotmobile alike, most of the buildings are structured at 2 to 3 floors and admirably use Victorian for its styling.

One building that strikes the most is a skyscraper with a golden engraving that says "Pegasus Corp". There's also another building that I might end up into, a huge dome in the middle of the city with a gold idol of a familiar looking trotmobile at the top. Now that I mention it, where have I seen that trotmobile before…?

"…Home of the famous Trotmobile Gladiator Championship! Wait, you ARE here for the championship, right?" he asked enthusiastically.

"I'm considering signing up", I said carefully, just in case I lose and end up going home, I don't want him disappointed now wouldn't I?

"Really! You're pretty young for a gladiator, eager trot drivers flock here. Looking for fame and fortune," he said as I walked off the ship. Fame and fortune huh…

"Watch yourself!" he yelled before he unloads my trotmobile to the dock.

Unlike the city, the harbor is peaceful and quiet; it's filled with cargos and lumbers shipped from around the world. An industrial soulless small harbor with almost no activity, quite ironic considering the city noisy environment. Now before I go and went searching for a place to sleep, I need to submit my temporary foreign citizenship to the customs office.

Decorated only by its blue roof, the customs office is quite small for its purpose. There I was greeted by a spirited balding middle aged man dressed in what seems like the attire of an official officer around the town. He seems different compared to the usually stereotypical strict faced officer.

"What's your name son?" the officer asked.

"A...Apollo" I answered rather reluctantly.

"You have any automobile or trotmobile license?"

"Here you go", I replied while showing my recently renewed trotmobile license. After a quick inspection he returned the license without a word. Suspiciously he smirks at the sight of the trot permanent ID.

"May I ask you a question sir?"

"Sure, what is it that you want to ask?"

"Is a gladiator license required around the town?"

"Of course no, that would be silly!" he answered while giggling because my lack of knowledge. Now I feel like a fool for asking a question only a 10-year old would ask.

"T…Thank you sir, now if you excuse me I have my trot to attend." that was a close call, judging his personality I'll be dying of embarrassment when he mock me of my own stupidity.

After I went to the office to register myself, I went to my trot for a quick check; the trotmobile is an old beige Earl Gray I model inherited from my grandfather, I named it the Milky-Way for some childish reason. It has a flatbed frame on the backside of the trot for carrying loads, and a soft leather rooftop on the topside of the trot to protect the rider from the merciless force of nature, the gas gauge says the lack of petroleum in my trot.

I start the engine while praying for my trot to start. Luckily, it seems there's enough gas for my trot for a quick drive to a mechanic of some sort. Now where do I find a cheap good mechanic around this town…?

"I can't wait to see what you can accomplish, good luck!" the sailor said cheerfully after successfully unload my trotmobile unscratched,

"Huh? Looks like a fight going on over there" he curiously said as he pointed to a field behind the office.

There I find an amusing sight of what seems to be a lover quarrel, at least that's what it seems until I walked in for a closer inspection. It's a debate between a spirited girl and an older punk who look like a desperado.

The "desperado" looks like an old homeless, penniless, desperate gangster with a disturbingly ugly dirty brown Mohawk which by the looks of it may haven't been washed since I was born, while wearing an old washed leather vest and a dirty red tank top.

The spirited girl on the other hand seems to be an attractive tomboyish girl with chestnut ponytail as her choice of hairstyle, wearing a white and pink tank top that shows a significant amount of cleavage between the subject breasts.

There's a brand new sturdy albeit broken trotmobile, colored by a coat of teal and dark purple paint. The arm frames consist of 2 maces which might be used as a fist of some sort. Also there's a low power jump booster frame powered by jet on the backside of the trot and a soft rooftop frame on the topside of the trot. By the smell of it, it seems to be leaking in oil, which is odd since there is neither droplet nor puddle of oil on sight under the trot. The smell might be from the owner which I suspect is the desperado judging from the smell, or could it be the girl who smells like oil?

"Oy! You've got some nerves, dissin' my trotmobile like that!" said the Desperado in a Scottish accent.

"I didn't say a single word about your trotmobile; I'm talking about drivers who don't maintain their vehicles." The spirited girl replied

"Oh yeah? You want to keep talkin' about 'em!?"

"You'll never pass Rank D if you don't respect your trot!"

"What? Nobody bothers with that waste of time anymore!" Sadly, what the ugly desperado said was true, I'm probably the only person in this town needing for a mechanic to trust my trot with.

I heard from the sailor that when this city was small, everyone would need a mechanic to fix their trots. Now with the arrival of Pegasus Corp, nobody would bother fixing their trots anymore. If it broke you can always get a new one, the price of trots offered by Pegasus is substantially cheaper than anything before. My trot manufacturer, Irem even became dysfunctional and now only manufactures frames.

Not only Pegasus monopolizing the trot industry in this region, the gladiators and bandits didn't help the situation either. The gladiator battle caused many battlers broke after they lost since the price of battling trots is unbelievably high. And the bandit's activity rose recently causing many trots broken, causing Pegasus more and more profit. I smell conspiracy between the bandits, the battlers, and Pegasus…

"It's a lot cheaper to just buy a new Trotmobile instead!"

"The repair shops are going under 'cuz of idiots like you! I feel sorry that your trot's owned by a third-rate driver!" the girl sadly yet sarcastically remarked, I'm starting to like this girl…

"Hey! Quit im-pyoon-in my Trot skills!" the desperado answered, now he's getting a little bit frustrated judging by the look of his face.

"I-I'll get you for that, you punk!" he said as he hop into his trotmobile.

Things are starting to get a little tense… I better walk away before I'm involved in this pathetically childish argument which might turn into a fight soon.

"What!? Hey you! Don't pretend you didn't see any of this!" the girl practically yelled looking at me who tried to walk away silently from the embarrassing argument, pretending to be a bystander.

"You on her side kid? Is that why you're in that old Trot!?" the desperado now yelling at me. "Oh you want to fight me? I'll take care of you first!"

Well fuck.

I, now offering a girl delicate hand rushed myself to the driver chair. The girl knowing the situation grabbed my hand and quickly got inside Milky-Way. Cautiously, I put my gloves on to prevent the driving wheel slipping in midst of the upcoming battle between an innocent although slightly perverted bystander against an old Scottish dirty hopeless desperado.

Quickly, I changed the booster gear backward and activate the trot booster to avoid immediate contact to the now readily pacing mace equipped green and purple colored trot. While he's equipped with a deadly form of weapon, the Milky-Way is equipped with nothing but a regular standard issue trot arm.

"You don't look like you're used to a trot, need an explanation?"

"I don't need an explanation for my own trot!"

"Well, what are you waiting for?" the girl sarcastically remarked, "Start attacking that guy!"

"How the hell do I attack when the enemy in hand has 2 mace arm frames, while nothing but a standard arm defend my trot!?"

"Well…"

I who have officially upset a girl I knew for 10 minutes, searched for a weapon to arm myself with. By the looks of it, there's no weapon I can use without having to pay a fee for harming foreign property. I have an idea which requires two sacrificial arm frames.

As I dashed to the desperado, I quickly plant my arm frames in the desperado's trot before he could smash me to pieces, lift the desperado's trot before he could counter my advances, and quickly bashed the now broken piece of metal to the ground mercilessly. Not only the course of action destroyed my arm frames completely, it also decreased the now critical point of petroleum in my trot. And by the looks of it, I might need to search the entire town before finding a mechanic.

"Ouch! Please, don't hurt me anymore…" plead the Desperado in a begging tone. After begging for mercy, he quickly stood from the broken piece of metal and ran away.

"He ran away!" the girl slowly yelled, it's fairly obvious that I've made an impression to the girl.

"Whoa! I can't believe you beat him with that old trotmobile!" the girl said in an enthusiastic tone, this sentence is supposed to praise me, but why do I feel insulted?

"I didn't know you were going to pull that one out" the sentence before is supposed to praise me yet somehow feel insulting; this sentence however is just plainly insulting.

"Thank you for being so courageous. You saved me!" the girl said, now clearly showering her hero with praise "I haven't seen you before, are you here for the tournament?"

"What's your name?" the girl curiously asked

Now before I answer this admittedly simple question, I must not judge a girl by the looks. She seems pretty nice compared to the usually vulgar females at her age. This entire cliche confrontation of hero versus desperado scenario could be a setup and before I knew it, I could've been a victim of theft. So how do I answer this innocent little question without risking my life to it?

"What's **your** name?" I replied, unknowingly the nature of my answer seems to be seducing.

"I'm Venus. Nice to meet you," The girl replied, without knowing the true nature of my statement. "Allow me to repay you…"

"How about I repair your trotmobile? It's the least I can do." Wait, have I unknowingly saved a mechanic that can save my life?

"That'd be great, thanks!"

"Great! Let's go," The girl, or Venus as she stated before replied enthusiastically "Shall we get going? My repair shop's east of the Coliseum."

"This is your first time in Orion city right?"

"Yes" I answered hesitantly, alarmed by the suspicious nature of the question.

"You'll probably need a map sooner or later, here you go" said Venus while handing me a map.

"My shop is north of here. Make a right and keep going" Venus guided as if I'm in the middle of a tourist guide.

The map is surprisingly childish yet accurate on the placement of the buildings. Looking at the map I concluded I'm at the front side of the employment agency. The employment agency is a large 3 floors building made out of stone bricks enforced by cement, a medium sized sign could be spotted on the left side of the building with the engraving: WORKS. The building is decorated by two pillars beside the half-glass doors; large letters forming: WORKS could be seen on the front side of the building nicely decorating the large gray empty front side of the building.

After passing the employment agency, a huge 4 floors luxurious hotel can be seen on the left side of the street. The entrance of the building can't be seen from the streets, I assume the entrance is at the back of the building in an alley. Countless number of windows can be seen upon sight, a particular window on the third row is open with a sad yet beautiful girl looking at the sky. On the right side of her window, large letters forming the word hotel can be seen upside down. The right side of the building is decorated nicely by a garden of mixed flower, composed out of poppy, rose, and flowers forming bushes alike.

Across the right side of the hotel, a two floors ancient looking boutique can be seen. The building is decorated by a red boutique sign, a blue and white cloth parasol, and two nicely fitted outdoor lamps beside the roof. The design is simple, yet elegant.

Passing the boutique, a large traditional looking market can be seen. The market's composed out of two buildings, with kiosk loitering around the front side of the said buildings. One building is a red 2 floors supplies market with 2 kiosks at the front side of the said building, both kiosks is filled with miscellaneous items and goods on display.

A larger yellow produce market reside on the right side of the said building, instead of items and tools the kiosk displayed countless number of foods including but not limited to fruits, vegetables, spices, dairy products, meats, poultry, and every other digestible items you can imagine.

Across the yellow building is a large alley decorated by lamp poles, and public benches. The paved road leads back to an exit on the left side of the employment agency. The alley is partly dark because of the large hotel shadowing the sun.

Following the main road, a small 2 floors luxurious jewelry can be seen. Decorated by a coat of dark green paint and gold engraving of the word jewelry makes the building looks exclusive. A magenta colored sign can be seen hanging under the gold engraving with the word: Hyperion Jewelry.

On left side of the jewelry, a police station can be seen. Decorated by a blue sign that says: POLICE and a young oak tree, the police station is awfully similar to the customs office.

Across the jewelry and the police station, a large white 3 floors building reside with flags decorating all over the building. The function of this building is unknown since there are no signs in sight.

"See that old building with the garage door? That's my shop"

The shop in question is a large rusty metallic building with a huge garage door on the front side which I assume is used to park the trotmobile inside for a closer inspection. Around the building is loitered with iron rods and wooden boxes containing frames and parts for trotmobile to use. On the backside of the building, a field can be seen with another garage door to transport trotmobile to the field, the field I assume is used to test the broken and or fixed trots. On the left side of the building, an entrance can be seen which leads to the shop interior. A huge rusty sign that says: Pola Motors can be seen decorating the upside of the building.

As I enter the shop, I was surprised by the clean and tidy interior that contradicts the exterior of the building. No rusty metal in sights, all of the equipment is clean and shining with chrome. No oil puddles in sight, all of the leftover oils are placed in a large barrel on the second floor. The hangar which is made out of iron is supposed to worn out and dirty from the customers trot legs yet surprisingly no dust or dirt can be seen. If there's no sign saying motors outside, I'll probably mistake the building to a showroom.

Across the hangar, a small fenced area reside. The fence divides the hangar and the area in question. I suspect the area is the place where she inspects a trot frame for a closer inspection. A long steel table can be seen beside the fence holding many dissembled frames; a particular bright green arm frame is being dissembled bolt by bolt, it would be a bad idea to move the parts. A box inside of the fenced area can be seen with parts neatly organized, any OCD person will be impressed by the tiny details of her workshop. An old uncolored poster can be seen on this area, the trotmobile in the poster looks awfully similar to…

"This is my repair shop, Pola Motors!" said Venus proudly.

"It looks very professional!" I praised after looking through her workshop.

"Thanks! I make sure to keep it clean. This is where the magic happens!" replied Venus, "I think I've seen this trot before… Where was it? "

"Hey there's an engraving here… This trotmobile has a name!"

"That's my trot. It's called Milky-Way." I boasted with pride

"That's a nice name! Hello Milky-Way. I'm Venus!" said Venus, pretending that Milky-Way's a person, "You must really love trotmobiles if you named yours"

"It's a little dinged up, but the inside is nice and clean." said Venus as she checks the status of the engine, "Wow! This engine is almost new! Someone must really take care of it!"

The "Someone" she mentioned isn't actually my late grandfather; the one who take care of Milky-Way after he passed is me. His idealistic view of a trotmobile driver includes the art of taking care of the core engine, minimalizing the usage of petroleum, replacing the lubricant without the help of a mechanic, and routinely cleaning the interior of a trot. I spent my entire childhood perfecting those skills, just so I'm allowed to drive my own trot.

"I feel a challenge coming one…" said Venus as she wink at me, "I'm not backing down!"

The whole process takes about 3-4 hours to fix the exterior, and around 1 hour to replace the crushed debris of what used to be a couple of arms to a new arm frame.

"Alright, that's it!" said the now tired and sweaty Venus.

"I can tell you care about trots. And this one's so interesting!"

"Let's make a deal: can I be your exclusive mechanic?" offered Venus.

I admit the offering seems harmless and if anything happens, I won't worry about finding a mechanic. And the deal also benefits her since an exclusive mechanic means a stable income for her. It's a win-win offering I can't decline. And her current sexy sweaty form isn't helping my brain thinking either.

"I really can't decide right now…"

"Oh, c'mon! You'll never find a cuter or more skilled mechanic!" said the now begging Venus, "Plus my prices are much better! Please!? Pleeeeeease?"

"Still, it costs money to keep a trot… You don't look rich" said Venus full of doubt.

"Hey, you wanted to work so hard. Why not do it for free?" I mockingly offered.

"I'm trying to keep my head above water, too!" protested the now clearly pouting Venus "Oh well… Let's just work together, okay?"

"We need to take job requests so we can enter the tournament"

"Job request?" I asked unknowingly.

"Those are tasks that people ask of Trotmobile drivers." explained Venus "People in town make request to the job agency in town"

"Why would anyone do jobs for entering a tournament?"

"The drivers do the jobs to show off their skills! That way, they raise money while also making names for themselves!" answered Venus, now clearly mocking my lack of knowledge.

"Of course it takes money and fame to enter the tournament"

"I figured it would" I remarked after listening her lecture.

"I knew all skilled Trot drivers would know that!" said Venus "Okay then, let's go get a job"

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A/N: For those who never played the spin-off game but played the original PS2 game, think of this story as a novel. Also Vanilla and Connie played a significant role in the story.


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